


Three Spirits: An RWRB Christmas Carol

by floatingaway4



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Inspired by Dickens, M/M, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28180062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingaway4/pseuds/floatingaway4
Summary: The night Alex storms the palace to tell Henry he loves him, Henry is visited by spirits who try to show him the error of his ways.Henry flops back down on his pillow. He definitely drank too much last night. Or ate too many Jaffa Cakes. Wait, did he eat Jaffa Cakes while he was drinking bourbon? Jesus, no wonder he’s hallucinating. That’s got to cause some kind of chemical reaction.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 93
Kudos: 89





	1. "It's not even December"

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely written and will be posted, one chapter a day, ending on Christmas Eve.

Henry hears soft footsteps in his bedroom, and drowsily wonders if Alex got up to go to the bathroom. Blearily, he looks up to see Bea standing at his bedside. She looks...fuzzy. Maybe he needs glasses. 

“Bea? What’s wrong?” He doesn't even have time to be embarrassed that his sister is seeing him in bed with a man. It’s hardly news to her, and he’s got a t-shirt on. He still awkwardly pulls the sheets up to his waist and makes sure Alex is covered up. 

He blinks a few times, but the hazy aura around her doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t remember any outside lights ever shining through his window that would backlight her. She looks almost ethereal. 

A vague memory clicks into place. “I thought you were in Belgium?” 

She just smiles. “I’m here to give you a message, Henry.” 

Henry sits up, heart beating faster. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Gran?” It figures he'd be moved up in the fucking line of succession just when he’s committed himself to living out his legacy, his birthright. 

Bea reaches out to touch his forehead. Her touch is so calming he almost feels like he’s in some weird sort of trance. 

“Tonight you will be visited by three spirits. Each one has an important message for you.” Her voice is weird and echoey. What is wrong with him? Maybe he has a brain tumor. Maybe he’s losing his mind. Any and all of those feel like they could be true right now. 

“What? Like A Christmas Carol?” He shakes his head. “So I’m Scrooge in this scenario? That’s ridiculous. I love Christmas. And it’s not even December!” 

Bea laughs, and when he realizes he can see through her, he decides this is obviously a dream. He probably just drank too much last night. He’d been drinking heavily for the past week, and probably just mixed too many kinds of alcohol last night before Alex showed up at his door to scream at him and call him names. 

And to tell him something else, something Henry is desperately trying to forget. 

“I’m here because you fucked up with Alex, darling brother. But it’s not too late. You still have time to fix it.” 

Henry looks over at Alex, sleeping in his awful, overly ornate bed, on stupidly expensive sheets that Henry would love to donate to someone who needs them. But right now, Alex’s curls are spread against the silky, high thread-count linen, and Henry can’t imagine never seeing that again. 

It’s for the best, he reminds himself. 

“It’s not too late, Henry. It’s not too late,” Bea says, her voice becoming softer as she fades from view. 

Henry shakes his head, hard, and rubs his eyes. Curious, he picks up his phone and texts his sister. 

**_where are you?_ **

She responds almost immediately. 

**_In a boring-ass hotel room in Brussels. Why?_ **

He checks her location. She’s not lying. 

**_Nothing_ **

**_nvm_ **

**_good night_ **

She sends back a confused emoji, then a row of question marks.

**_Nice talking to you, little brother_ **

A minute later she sends him a little heart emoji. ****

**_Call if you want to talk_ **

Henry flops back down on his pillow. He definitely drank too much last night. Or ate too many Jaffa Cakes. Wait, did he eat Jaffa Cakes _while_ he was drinking bourbon? Jesus, no wonder he’s hallucinating. That’s got to cause some kind of chemical reaction. 

In a way, he’s glad his weird dream woke him up, because it means he gets to spend more time watching Alex sleep. This is the last time he’ll have the chance, so he wants to remember every detail. How his lips are open just a tiny bit. How his hands are curled into his chest, protecting his heart, probably. Henry knows it will absolutely kill them both when he sends Alex away in the morning, but it’s his duty. His duty to country and Crown. He certainly shouldn’t even have slept with Alex one last time, but he’s never really been able to resist him. 

Henry desperately wants to reach out and touch Alex, but if he wakes him up they’re going to start talking again, and Henry’s not ready for that. So he settles for just watching Alex, until his own eyes droop closed. 

The clock strikes one with a deep, resonant _bong_. Which is funny, because Henry doesn’t have a grandfather clock anywhere in his apartment. 

He opens his eyes to see a woman standing next to his bed. 

“June?”


	2. "I do not need that image in my head."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, come on, you know how this goes. You must’ve read Dickens in, what, high school?” 

“June?” 

Like Bea, she looks ethereal. She’s wearing something glittery and diaphanous. If Henry had any interest in women, June would be his type. 

Henry turns to see if Alex is awake, but he’s still dead to the world. 

“He drools in his sleep,” June says, shaking her head. 

“I know,” Henry replies, with a tiny smile. 

“Bea told you I was coming?” 

Henry nods. “Not you, specifically, but she said three spirits would come.” 

“Well, come on, you know how this goes. You must’ve read Dickens in, what, high school?” 

“Actually, I read Christmas Carol when I was 8 or 9. Couldn’t sleep for weeks, thought I saw ghosts in my room every time I turned the lights out.” Henry starts to get up before he realizes he really...shouldn’t. 

“Could you, erm, turn around for a second, June?” he asks. He looks down at his pants and joggers, laying on the floor at her feet. 

She does, and he quickly pulls them on. “All right, then.” 

June turns back and reaches out to take his hand. Suddenly they’re not in Henry’s room. 

“Where are we?” he asks, just before he recognizes the karaoke bar in L.A. “Ah, never mind.” He’s a little embarrassed about being there in his pajamas but quickly realizes no one can see them. 

Henry watches himself singing and dancing...well, _trying_ to sing and dance, on the little stage. It’s worse than he remembers. June nudges him with her elbow, and raises her chin toward Alex standing at the edge of the stage. “Look at his face, Henry. Do you see what I see?” 

Henry looks, even though he doesn’t have to. He knows that look on Alex’s face. The light and the absolute adoration in his eyes. The sweet smile that Henry never sees on his face when he looks at other people. “He loves me.” Even with so much evidence right in front of him, Henry still can’t quite believe that's true. 

June nods. “We could all see how in love you both were. Nora and Pez and I talked about it in the hotel room that night.” 

“We hadn’t said it yet, I mean, we hadn’t, erm, used that word,” Henry corrects her hesitantly.

June looks back at Alex’s face, then at Past-Henry’s, covered in glitter and sweat and champagne. “You didn’t need to.” She waves a hand and everyone in the karaoke bar freezes. She walks over and points at Henry’s outfit, his hair, his grip on the mike. “Would you have done this for anyone else? Anyone you didn’t love?” 

In the blink of an eye, he and June are suddenly in the hallway of their L.A. hotel, watching as Alex and Henry stumble into their room. They’re laughing, bodies pressed together, and it’s fairly obvious what’s about to happen behind closed doors. 

“Look how happy you two are.” June is suddenly holding a takeout bag from In-n-Out. She shoves a handful of fries into her mouth and offers some to Henry. He can smell the heat and salt emanating from the bag and reaches in to take a few, because why not? He’s clearly having a brain hemorrhage, he might as well enjoy it. “Why in the world would you give that up, Henry?” June asks around a mouthful of fries.

Henry shakes his head. “It’s not up to me.” 

“Fuck that, you’re wrong. It’s exactly up to you. It is _only_ up to you. You and Alex.” She licks the grease from her fingers. “Come on,” she says, and reaches for the door handle of their hotel room. 

“Erm....I...erm...” Henry stutters out.

June turns on him with a mischievous smile, one that reminds him a little of Alex. “Kidding. We’re not going in there.” She pops an eyebrow at him, pats his brightly flushed cheek. “There are things you need to see tonight, but he’s still my baby brother and I do _not_ need that image in my head.” She pops a fry in her mouth, then gestures toward the door with a perfectly manicured finger. “Besides, I think you remember what happened in there.” 

Henry nods. “I think about it all the time.” He turns to face June, exasperated. “I just don't think you understand, none of this matters. I can’t _have_ any of it. It doesn’t matter how happy we were, we aren’t allowed…I’m not allowed….” His body sags. “I can’t have him. So ending it now, it’s...it’s for the best. For everyone.” 

June sighs heavily. “God, you’re both dumbasses.” She mutters something he can't quite hear about them being perfect for each other, but when he starts to ask her about it, he’s back in his bed and she’s gone. He turns to look at Alex, who is still peacefully sleeping through Henry’s weird dream, or Jaffa Cake-induced hallucination, whatever this is. Weirdly, his mouth tastes like french fries, but he doesn't dwell too much on that. 

He decides to take a risk and reaches over to stroke Alex’s curls. Alex shifts a little in his sleep and Henry pulls his hand away, but it travels back of its own accord. He’s always played with Alex’s hair when he wakes up in the middle of the night. He wonders if Alex has noticed that his hair is never quite as messy when he sleeps alone. 

It’s not that he doesn't want to be with Alex, he just ... _can’t_. And June obviously doesn't understand that, because she can be whoever she wants. Be _with_ whomever she wants. So can Alex, for that matter. That’s why Henry needs to end this now. Cut the cord so Alex can grieve him and move on and find someone who can really love him. 

“The way you deserve to be loved,” he whispers in the dark, as his eyes fall closed and his heart breaks a little more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Gretchen (allmylovesatonce) for listening to me whine about this story for over a month now, always giving amazing feedback, and just generally being an awesome person!!


	3. “Well, you need to hang onto that, my friend.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry sits up, resigned. “Where are you taking me?” 
> 
> “Nowhere.”

  
  


Two metallic bongs wake Henry, and he still can’t figure out where they’re coming from. But honestly, that’s the least of his worries tonight. 

“Come on, Your Royal Stubbornness, it’s my turn.” 

He opens his eyes to see Pez sitting on the edge of his bed and groans. “You lot really aren't going to let me get any sleep tonight, are you?” 

Pez throws his head back and laughs, prompting Henry to look over at Alex. Still sound asleep. How does he do that? They both struggle with insomnia and yet Alex has been blissfully unaware of any of these visitations. 

Henry sits up, resigned. “Where are _you_ taking me?” 

“Nowhere,” Pez tells him, smugly. 

Henry crosses his arms over his chest, shivering at a sudden chill. He notices the fire has gone out. “I thought that was the whole point of--” 

Pez lifts his hand and the fireplace sparks to life, amber flames dancing and flickering and warming up the room. Without actually moving, Henry finds himself and Pez standing near the door, watching...himself. Earlier that night, in this room. 

Alex is screaming at him and he’s screaming back, arguing about happiness and birthright and love. Love, the thing that Henry never thought he could have, the one thing that could ruin it all. 

Pez says nothing, just forces Henry to watch their whole fight again, to watch him relentlessly hurt the person he loves most in the world. 

Tears fill his eyes, and he turns to Pez, helplessly in love and completely unable to do anything about it. “Pez, please make this stop, I can’t…” 

Pez lifts his hand and both Alex and Henry freeze, mid-argument. Pez walks across the room and stands near Alex, pointing at him. “Look at his face, Henry. Look at how much this boy loves you.” 

Henry can’t meet Pez’s eyes. He’s so, so tired of having the same argument over and over with people who just don’t understand the position Henry is in. “I love him too. I’ve always loved him. But it doesn’t matter, and you know that as well as he does.” 

Pez throws his hands in the air. “June and Bea were right, you are a colossal idiot.” 

Henry jerks his head up. It’s only been the last few months of his life that people have so carelessly insulted him to his face on a regular basis. He’d prefer not to get too used to it. 

Pez crosses his arms. “He flew all the way here, to tell you not to give up, on yourself, on him. He stood outside the fucking palace and made an absolute fool of himself, Henry. If you hadn’t let him in, he would’ve created an international incident. The tabloids would’ve been onto both of you in a hot minute. Why’d he do all that, Haz?” 

Henry shakes his head and starts to say something, but Pez cuts him off. 

“Because he thinks you’re worth fighting for. That your love is worth fighting for.” Pez seems to float back across the room until he’s standing in front of Henry. “How many people have cozied up to you, been friendly with you or sought your attention, or even fucked you, just because you’re royalty? Hmm?”

Henry doesn’t even have to think hard. “Too many,” he answers. “Probably more than I know.” 

Pez nods, love for his best friend evident in his expression. “But not Alexander. He wants you _in spite of_ who you are. He loves you for _you,_ in all your perfectly imperfect glory.” Pez blinks slowly, his pink and gold eyeshadow shimmering in the firelight. “If you can find someone who loves you despite your being... what did he call you?” Pez raises his hand again, so that Henry and Alex continue their earlier argument just as Alex blurts out “an obtuse fucking asshole.” 

Pez snaps his fingers and the other Alex and Henry freeze again. He cackles, much too pleased with himself. “That’s right, an obtuse fucking asshole....well, you need to hang onto that, my friend.” Pez pinches Henry lightly on the arm. “And he’s right, you know.” 

“Fuck off, Pezza,” Henry says, suppressing a smile. He abruptly remembers the point of this whole night. Henry is so tired of trying to make everyone understand, when it’s so clear in his own mind. “He’d be better off without me,” Henry insists. 

“No, he wouldn’t. sweetie,” Pez rests his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “And neither would you. You’ll see that later.” The fire goes out, and Alex and Henry from earlier fade away. Again, without moving, Henry is suddenly back on his bed with Alex softly snoring beside him. He turns back to Pez. 

“So I assume Nora is next?” Henry asks, sliding back under the duvet. He can feel Alex’s body heat radiating from his skin. _Like fire,_ Henry thinks. 

Pez just flashes Henry a knowing smile. “She was busy,” he says, “and we all decided that your strumpet was right. You’re way too much of an obtuse fucking asshole to listen to any of us, anyway.” Pez reaches out to adjust the duvet, like he’s tucking Henry into bed. “So we’re bringing out the big guns.” 

“Who?” he asks into the darkness, because Pez has already disappeared. 

Resigned to getting absolutely no sleep tonight, Henry turns to look at Alex. He wonders if he can kiss him without waking him up. He falls asleep before he can find out. 

When three deep chimes wake Henry, he doesn’t even bother wondering how his hallucination has such specific sound effects. He’ll go with whoever shows up and get it over with so he can finally get some sleep. But when Henry opens his eyes, they immediately fill with tears. Unlike his previous three visitors, this one makes him sit up in disbelief. His throat closes up and he’s afraid he won’t be able to get any words out at all. He finally manages one. 

“Dad?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know the story...it gets dark from here.


	4. "Are you really about to mansplain to me…"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I assumed they were going to your sister’s room, but it turned out I was wrong.”

Henry can’t even really understand what he’s seeing. 

His father is standing in front of him. 

Not the way he looked when he died, but healthy and strong, before the chemo took his hair and made him weak, thin, made his skin gray and papery. 

Henry jumps up and hugs him, surprised he can, since he’s a little bit transparent. But he can, and he can touch him and smell him and feel his strong arms wrapped around Henry’s shoulders. 

He doesn’t even care if this is a dream or a...whatever, because it feels so real and how many times has he begged the universe for just this, one more conversation, one more moment with his father. 

Henry had grown an inch or two after his dad died, and now he’s a little taller, looking down at his dad’s face, which is a weird sensation. Henry swipes at his own eyes, quickly moving his hands back to hold his father close to him. 

“How…?” 

“Don’t ask questions, son, just go along with this.” His father winks at him. “And honestly, I’m not sure how it works either.” 

Henry turns his head as Alex shifts in the bed, mutters something, and starts softly snoring again. He looks back toward his dad, afraid of seeing judgement or disgust on his face. 

But he only sees the same loving expression on his father’s face that he remembers. Arthur reaches up and cups his son’s cheek. 

“Henry, I knew,” he assures him. “You really can’t sneak boys into the palace without someone seeing you.” Henry feels a flash of panic, remembering the times he did just that. “I assumed they were going to your sister’s room, but it turned out I was wrong.” He seems to anticipate Henry’s next question. “I never told your mother. I felt that should be up to you, when you were ready.” He sees Henry’s anxious face and smiles reassuringly. “My darling boy, it’s okay.” 

Henry can’t stop crying. His father takes his hand and leads them over to the two chairs situated in front of the fireplace. Before he sits down, Arthur reaches up to the mantle and picks up the signet ring. “You still have my ring,” he says, sliding it up and down on his own pinky. “I’ll tell you a little secret, I got sick of wearing it. Kept it in a jewelry box,” he explains. “It made me feel chained to the monarchy.” A fond smile lights up his face. “And honestly, I preferred my wedding ring.” 

Arthur nods back toward the bed. “I like him, you know.” He smiles that famous movie star smile that captivated his fans, and, fortunately for everyone involved, Henry’s mother. “He’s good for you.” He reaches over to punch Henry’s knee. “Doesn’t let you get too much in your own head.” 

Henry unabashedly reaches for his father’s hand and holds onto it tightly. He’s probably never going to get this chance again, and he’s not letting go. “Dad, I don’t understand why all this is happening,” he says in a shaky voice. “In the story, Scrooge was selfish and cruel. I’m not selfish. I give money and time and publicity to charities and I try to--”

“But you are, son.” 

Henry feels sick to his stomach. “I am?” 

Arthur nods. “Look what you’re doing to Alex.”

Henry sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. His own father doesn’t even understand. “Dad, it’s not--” 

“Are you really about to mansplain to me what it means to marry into this family?” 

Henry blushes a little and looks away. “No, sir.” He looks over at Alex in his bed. “And anyway, we’re not getting married. It’s... it’s not like that.” 

Arthur’s eyes widen. “Wow, Alex was right. You are an obtuse--”

“I’m not!” Henry interrupts, holding up his palm. “He just...he just doesn’t understand. I have to carry out my family duty, and produce heirs and…” 

“And be miserable in the process,” Arthur finishes. 

“It’s for the best,” Henry repeats for what feels like the millionth time that night, even though he’s less and less sure each time he says it. “I need to let him go so he can move on and live his life.” 

“What kind of life is that, Henry?” 

Henry shrugs. “I…” 

And suddenly he and his father are somewhere else, in what looks like a fancy apartment in a city, based on the traffic outside the huge picture windows. 

“Where are we?” Henry asks, still clinging to his father’s hand. He doesn’t care if it’s childish, he won’t let go again until he absolutely has to. 

“The future, if you choose to carry on the way you seem to think you’re obligated to.” 

An obviously older Alex stomps into the beautifully furnished room, followed by an attractive red-headed woman, who’s in the middle of yelling at him. “Do not walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” 

“Why not?” Alex turns and yells back. “You don’t listen to a damn thing I say anyway.” 

“Well, say something worth listening to, you motherfucker,” she screams at him. Alex turns away from her again. Henry can see his face, see the absolute misery there. He looks completely different, like a bad caricature of the Alex that Henry just left in his bed. His skin is sallow and his face looks bloated. There are dark circles under his eyes. His shirt is buttoned wrong. Henry almost can’t believe this is the same person he knows, the person he loves. But even now, Henry wants to wrap Alex in his arms. 

The woman continues screaming at the top of her lungs. “You have never loved me, and I am tired of pretending. I’m tired of being in a fake marriage so you can trot me around in front of your friends and pretend you’re over him.” 

Alex’s eyes fall closed and tears silently roll down his cheeks. It makes Henry’s heart hurt. 

Henry is confused. This is so far into the future, Alex must’ve fallen in love with someone else, another man he never got over. Because she can’t possibly be talking about.... 

“Every time he’s on television or even in a stupid magazine, you’re useless for days. And when he had the last kid, you were in bed for a week and drunk off your ass.” The woman reaches out and grabs the nearest breakable object, an ugly blue vase, and slams it into the wall near Alex’s head. He jerks and ducks and spins around, holding up his hands defensively. 

The woman doesn’t throw any more breakable objects, but she wrenches the ring off her finger and throws that at Alex too. It bounces off his chest and he doesn’t even bother reaching down to pick it up. “I’m filing for divorce. If you tie me up in court, I will drag you and him into every tabloid in the country. How much do you think I could get for that story, huh?” Her eyes narrow with absolute, laser-focused hatred. “I will destroy him. I will destroy his family. I will destroy your mother’s legacy. And most of all, I will destroy you.” 

Alex doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at her. She stomps out of the room and a door slams somewhere in the apartment, leaving an ominous silence behind. Alex crumples in on himself. Henry desperately wants to hug him, ask him what he was doing with her anyway, this person who …

It hits him, suddenly, that Alex was only with her because Henry pushed him away. 

He turns to face his father. “He must have had some good relationships, or maybe the one after this…” 

  
Arthur shakes his head slowly, solemnly. “They’ve all ended like this. Men, women, it didn’t matter.” He turns to look at Alex, then back at his son. “They weren’t you.” He doesn’t meet Henry’s eyes. “And there won’t be another one after this,” he says ominously. 


	5. "Word gets around in the afterlife.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You do have a type, don’t you, my boy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 gets an added TW for implied alcohol abuse

Alex leaves the room, carefully stepping over the shards of the broken vase. Henry and his father don’t so much follow him, as they abruptly end up in the same room he’s in. He’s been there for a while, if the stale smell of alcohol is any indication. Alex is sprawled on a worn leather sofa, holding something to his chest with one hand. With the other, he’s pointing the remote at the television, apparently fast-forwarding. There’s more than one empty bottle of liquor on the end table next to him. One of the bottles is sitting on top of a hardback book that Henry can see has his own name inscribed on it. _A Collection of Poetry by HRH Prince Henry of Wales_ , it says, in gaudy gold script. Alex’s words from earlier come back to haunt him. 

_Write a whole book of sad fucking poems about it…._

Arthur tugs at Henry’s arm, positioning him so he can see both the screen and Alex’s miserable, tear-stained face. He’s watching one of those entertainment news shows, the ones that do stories about celebrities and influencers. A perky blond woman is on the screen when Alex speaks into the remote. “Stop. Play.” 

“And more happy news for the royal family as Prince Henry and Princess Carolina welcome their third child and first son. The baby’s full name hasn’t been released to the press yet, but there’s speculation that the baby will be named after Prince Henry’s late father, Arthur.” 

Inside the apartment, Arthur sighs at Henry’s side. 

Henry and a dark-haired woman with olive skin appear on the screen, apparently standing outside a hospital. Two small children, also with lustrous, dark hair, stand in front of them for a photo-op. Henry knows how these things work, knows the older children will be ushered off by their nannies as soon as the photographers leave. 

Henry on the screen waves at the press, his other arm supportively around his wife’s waist. He looks down proudly at the baby wrapped in a blanket, settled in her arms. His wife looks down too, and they both suddenly laugh at something the baby does. The woman’s dark curls bounce when she laughs and looks fondly up at Henry’s face. 

Inside Alex’s apartment, Arthur has let go of Henry’s hand and rubs his back. “You do have a type, don’t you, my boy?” 

Henry almost doesn't hear him, intent on watching the couple on the screen. It’s …*him*...but it’s not. Henry knows himself, knows that smile is fake, can see the anxiety in his eyes and in his posture. He's thinner, and his eyes look glassy, like they did when he accidentally took an extra Xanax. 

“The royal couple is--” 

Whatever the host is about to say is interrupted when Alex hurls one of the liquor bottles at the screen. The bottle and the huge tv both crash to the floor, the bottle shattering into a million pieces that fly all over the room. Henry flinches. Alex does not. 

“Asshole,” Alex says to no one. “You don’t love her,” he mutters, and Henry can hear the drunken slurring even in that short phrase. Alex’s eyes close and his arms fall open so that he drops the magazine he was holding. His breathing is shallow and labored. Henry steps carefully across the room, even though he realizes Alex can’t hear or see him. He kneels down and sees that it’s one of the magazines that ran early pictures of their fake friendship. It’s opened to a candid photo of them outside the polo stables. 

“The drinking is going to kill him,” Arthur says. 

Henry jumps up and turns back to his father, his voice thick with impending tears. “No, Alex can handle this, he’s stronger than this, stronger than me, he’s…” 

“He’s going to die, son, and soon. He never learns to cope with this loss. He keeps trying to replace you, and that’s not fair to anyone. He knows you aren’t happy, and he has to watch you pretend that you are. That’s what’s killing him.” 

Henry inhales, choking on a sob. “No,” he insists, but his voice is small and powerless. 

“Come on, son, we don’t have much time.” Arthur reaches for Henry’s hand and they’re gone, before Henry can even try to turn back for one last look at the man he loves. 

They’re in the palace now, Henry watching himself, the same version of himself he just saw on the television screen. He’s in a bedroom, his wife nowhere to be seen. 

“Where’s…” Henry asks. 

“Separate bedrooms,” Arthur tells him. “You let your grandmother choose her, she set this up. You barely knew each other. The two of you are friends, now, but that’s as far as it goes. You never really enjoyed sleeping with her, but you do it because it’s your duty. You told her she could have affairs, as long as she was discreet.” He looks into Henry’s eyes. “ _You_ never have, though, never wanted to. Now that she’s produced a son, you assume you’re done with all that…” Arthur waves his hand, searching for the right word, “messiness.” 

Henry’s brain is whirling with so much new information, with seeing this bleak future playing out before him. Living a whole life in a loveless, lonely marriage, forcing his wife to do the same, to sneak around with people who can give her what she needs. Forcing three children to grow up with parents who don’t love each other. And Alex, Jesus, _Alex…_

“But I really thought…” Henry nearly sobs. 

“That night in the Red Room, didn't Alex tell you to stop thinking?”

Henry turns to his father, utterly horrified. “I didn’t watch, for fuck’s sake, I’m not a _voyeur_ ,” Arthur assures him. He smiles at his son. “But you know, lots of ghosts in that place. Word gets around in the afterlife.” 

They both turn back to watch Henry in the future, alone in a giant, gold bed, much like the one he spent his childhood sleeping in. Expensive liquor bottles sit on the nightstand. The whole room is familiar, but different. Impersonal, cold, just like the one he left Alex sleeping in before his father whisked him away. Henry watches as the older version of himself turns on his side and pulls a pillow closer to his body. “Alex,” he whispers, and falls asleep. 

Tears are streaming down his face as Henry grabs his father’s arm. “Please, I don’t want this, I don’t want any of this, I...please. Take me back to him, please.” 

And Henry is back in his own room, where Alex is still sound asleep, his deep, even breaths music to Henry’s ears.

Henry looks anxiously at his father, and pulls him in for one last, long hug. Whether this is a dream or a vision or...whatever it is, Henry knows it’s almost over. 


	6. “It was just a dream”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry has always wanted some of Alex’s bravery. Maybe he could learn some other lessons from Alex, too.

“You’re really okay with...us?” Henry asks his father, looking back toward the beautiful, sleeping man in his bed. 

Arthur reaches up to kiss Henry on the cheek. “Absolutely.” He gazes into his youngest son’s eyes. “Not that you need my blessing, but the two of you have it, unconditionally.” He rests both hands on Henry’s shoulders. “I want you to be happy. He makes you happy.” Arthur laughs a little, shakes Henry by the shoulders. “You’re making this so complicated. Your grandmother has an outdated view of the monarchy. She doesn’t even run the _country,_ stop letting her run your life.” 

Henry grins. “I was sure you were going to tell me to stop being an obtuse fucking asshole.” 

Arthur grins back. “That, too.” He cups Henry’s cheek, and the signet ring feels cold against Henry’s skin. “I love you, Henry. Take care of your mother and your sister, and be civil to your brother.” Arthur huffs out a sigh. “He can’t help the way he is.” 

Henry laughs, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his face, unwilling to miss one second of feeling his father’s skin, alive and warm, beneath his hands. “I love you too, Dad.” 

Arthur starts to fade, and Henry desperately tries to hold onto him. “Oh,” Arthur looks toward Alex and then back at Henry, “and when you two have children, tell them all about me, okay?” 

And he’s gone. 

Henry sits on the edge of his own bed, in his finally quiet bedroom, and cries for a long, long time. When he can finally breathe, he looks around and runs his hands over the sheets, runs his eyes over Alex. Nothing else about the room has changed, but Henry has. He feels like a completely different person than the one who yelled at Alex a few hours before. 

The image of Alex in the future keeps intruding into his thoughts, Henry can’t quite shake it off. But Alex is here and young and healthy and vibrant and fucking _alive_ , and Henry won’t take that for granted, ever again. He still has time to fix things. It’s not too late. 

Still sound asleep, Alex turns on his side, facing Henry, and the key around his neck slides out from under the sheets. He usually takes it off before bed, so he doesn’t accidentally strangle himself in his sleep, but he obviously never got around to it last night. It’s one of the many things Henry loves about Alex, the way he values his roots and tradition and family but doesn’t let them rule his life. He kept the key, and wears it close to his heart every day. But Alex also moved on, bringing the good parts of his past with him. 

Henry has always wanted some of Alex’s bravery. Maybe he could learn some other lessons from Alex, too.

Exhausted and drained, Henry finally crawls under the covers and pulls Alex’s body close to his own. Alex mutters in his sleep and burrows into Henry’s chest. He buries his tear-stained face in Alex’s hair and inhales deeply, like someone who has been held underwater and has finally been let up for air. In the space of only a few breaths, Henry falls into a deep sleep. 

When the sun peeks through the curtains, Henry wakes up. He feels like a new man, confident and certain about his future, of the man he wants to be. 

And more than certain about who he wants by his side for the rest of his life. He feels weirdly well-rested, making him think his odd experiences were just dreams. There’s no way he’d feel this good if he was actually dragged all over creation by...spirits. That’s insane. 

Right? 

Henry leans over and studies the serene expression on Alex’s sleeping face, presses a kiss to Alex’s temple. “I’ll be back, love, I’m going for a run,” he whispers. 

He needs to clear his head, before he has this conversation with Alex. Before he apologizes for all the bullshit he spewed last night. Before he tells him that maybe he can be brave, too, with Alex’s help. That maybe he can learn to hold onto the good parts of his family’s traditions, and let go of the parts that only cause pain. 

That he’s in this, forever. And that he will never let Alex go. 

He laces up his running shoes and reaches for the doorknob. “It was just a dream,” he assures himself, in a voice barely above a whisper.

Henry’s signet ring drops out of nowhere and lands on the mantle with a loud clatter. It spins wildly for a moment before finally settling, only an inch or so from where Henry left it the night before. 

“All right, all right!” Henry says into the still air, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I get it, I promise.” He looks toward the chairs in front of the fireplace. “Thanks, Dad.” Henry smiles to himself and slips quietly out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read this as I posted! Your comments were really sweet and encouraging!! I hope you liked the ending!!


End file.
